Act of God
by Littlefoxylove
Summary: Andrea continues as Rusty's mentor over the years. A small amount of closure. Stand alone one shots.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N- It still seems wrong, but this wanted to be written. It's kind of sad. I also wasn't sure how the Gusty storyline would resolve. There's just a brief mention of that here, and I'm choosing for them to stay together. I have mixed feelings about Gus, but. . . For now, he's here.**_

* * *

 _Every minute of every hour, I miss you, I miss you, I miss you more. Every stumble and each misfire,_ _I miss you, I miss you, I miss you more. - Good Grief, Bastille_

* * *

When Rusty gets into UCLA Law, Andrea is the second person he calls. Andy and Provenza first, of course, and still joined at the hip, but Andrea is second.

He calls her on a Saturday afternoon, a rare day off. He's been a workhorse, doing his work and more in the year since Sharon died. Andrea occasionally thinks about telling him to take it easy, but she sees enough of herself and Sharon in him to know it would do no good.

It's been a hell of a year, and it's only June. The only light is that the whole Stroh business is closed now. Somehow, Rusty managed to get his applications for school in by the March deadlines. She is more than proud of him for that alone. Sharon was her best friend, not her mother, and Andrea was an emotional wreck until February, easily.

It didn't help that she and Andy got into an argument- no, shouting match- sometime in late December or early January. The whole month is just a dark blur in her memory, but she thinks it involved her trying to apologize to Andy for forcing Sharon's hand, for telling her friend that they needed more evidence. Andy had told her, no, Sharon knew that before that last interview, it wasn't Andrea's fault. They had fought over a misguided attempt to protect Sharon's honor, and it had ended in tears and sharp words.

The week after, Andrea had come to the murder room with two cups of coffee- decent stuff, not the breakroom sludge- and apologized again. For herself this time, not Sharon. Again, there had been tears, but the words were softer.

Rusty somehow weathered that storm, but Andrea still suspects he was so lost in his own darkness that he'd completely missed theirs.

Her cell rings, and she sees _Russell Beck_ scroll across the screen. It's strange for him to be calling.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Andrea." He sounds more cheerful than he has in months, and she's instantly curious. "Guess what?"

"What?" It's subconsciously starting to dawn on her.

"I got in."

"Got in." She tries to hold her excitement tight, but she understands what he's referring to. He's applied to half a dozen schools across the country, from coast to coast. She should know; she wrote a shining letter of recommendation for each one, concluding them with a faint threat.

 _Russell Beck is the most promising student you could ever hope to matriculate. It would be an honor to have his name attached to your alumni list._

"Mm." He sounds like Sharon for a moment. "I got in to UCLA."

She screams. "Oh my God, Rusty!"

She hears a faint laugh. "What was that? My ears are ringing."

"Oh my God." There are tears on her face, and she looks up, not bothering to wipe them away. "Sharon would be so proud."

There's a silence. "Would she really?" He's not doubting the fact so much as looking for reassurance, Andrea can tell. They both know Sharon is proud, wherever she is, but Rusty wants to hear the words.

"Yes. She'd be so proud. You surpassed her hopes and dreams for you, Rusty. Don't ever doubt that. When she met you, all she wanted was to get you to sleep in a bed. That was it." Andrea laughs slightly. The sound is watery. "Look at you now. You know what she used to call you sometimes?"

"What?"

 _"My son, the lawyer._ Rusty, she was so proud of you. She is. She loves you."

There's a choked noise over the speaker. "Thank you."

"Yeah." She stares out the window, over the lawn Rusty still mows, towards Sharon's city. "I'm proud of you, too. Don't forget that."

* * *

Three years later, Andrea, Andy, Provenza, and Patrice sit next to each other in Dickson Court for the UCLA Law Class of 2021 commencement. They're quite the sight in the front row. Andy is still part of the LAPD, unable to bear retiring, and wearing his dress blues. The pins and ribbons gleam alongside his double bars. He was promoted to Captain two years after his wife died, the year after Provenza retired, and shortly after the Chief of Police suddenly realized Major Crimes wouldn't readily accept new leadership from an outside squad.

Provenza is dressed in a suit and tie that matches Patrice's dress. In the years since he's been married, his fashion has gotten infinitely better. It takes a minute, but Andrea eventually realizes the Provenzas' outfits are even coordinated with the school colors. Patrice had chosen carefully, as Rusty had asked Provenza to hood him. Andrea had never before seen the man at such a loss for words.

Andrea is past retirement as well, but sees her days off as more than enough free time already and isn't interested in promotion. Therefore, DDA Hobbs is a well-known face among the local law students. She's either a holy terror or an unholy terror, depending on who is asked. Of course, one of the students will laugh and say that she's his honorary aunt. Not his mother, but his mother's best friend and his own mentor.

She and Andy have come a long ways over the last few years. They're close now, and Andrea takes strange pride in the fact that she's invited to game nights and Taco Tuesdays with the rest of Major Crimes. She looks at him and squeezes his arm tightly as graduation begins.

An hour later, Russell Thomas Raydor, JD, stands in front of them. He changed his name after his acceptance to school, after careful consideration with his family. It's true, he knows Rusty Raydor is a strange name, but it reminds him of his mother's laugh, keeps him anchored to her and his siblings. Now he gets to add another piece to his name.

Andy pulls his son in for a hug. "Top of the class, kid, you never mentioned it."

Rusty grins. "It depended on final grades."

Andrea passes him a bouquet, and then glances at Andy, who nods. Rusty catches the exchange and watches as Andrea reaches into her purse and pulls out a slim jewelry case. It's smooth, dark leather with gold trim, and it smells old.

"This," she says slowly. "This was your mother's." She passes it to him gently, sliding one more remnant of Sharon into his hands.

He holds it in both hands, bouquet tucked under his arm. The leather is warm, and now that it's closer to him, he can see the case is well-worn. It's cared for, but old. Rusty opens the case slowly to find a chain of deep blue beads gleaming at him. It's another moment until he sees the centerpiece and the heavy silver medallion and identifies it as a rosary.

Andy stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks up at Rusty. "It's Sharon's chaplet of Saint Michael the Archangel. Saint Michael is the patron saint of the police, among other things."

Rusty nods, a little of his Catholic education flickering in his memory.

"She told me she's had the chaplet since she joined the Academy." Andy had noticed it hanging out of her blazer pocket once, back when she still worked in IA. He hadn't thought much of it until he saw it again, years later and asked who's rosary was so important that she carried it on her person.

Andrea continues. "Her- your grandparents gave it to her."

Rusty runs his fingers over the beads. "Thank you."

Andrea smiles. "She'd want you to have it."

The boy- man- looks up in confusion. "I'm not Catholic. Ricky and Em-"

Andy reaches out to rest his hand on Rusty's shoulder. "We all talked about it, don't worry. You're the one staying in the profession, so it seemed right."

"I'm not going to be a cop, either."

"Rusty." Andrea catches his gaze. " _To Protect and Serve._ That's what she did."

Understanding blossoms in his eyes.

"You're serving the great city of angels," Provenza adds. He waves an arm across the view beside him. "Los Angeles."

They stand in silence for a minute, staring out over the city. Finally, Flynn speaks.

"I think she always like when you said that, even if you were being sarcastic. She always said you can't ever have enough angels, and then she ended up here, in their city. I mean, that's not why she moved here, but she told me it felt right, like a sign, when it happened." He glances around at his strange family. "Maybe it was a sign. It's why we're all here now."

Rusty nods against the lump in his throat. "She made us a family."

* * *

Five years on, Rusty sinks to his knees next to his mother's grave and settles on the grass. "Did you know you've got a conference room and an Academy class named after you?" he asks her.

He and Andy bring fresh flowers every week, alternating weeks, and between the two of them, there's always a bright burst of color. He lifts the carnations out of the vase and settles a wild bunch of sunflowers in their place. There are both bright gold ones and ones that look like they've been streaked with cinnamon. He leans back against the warming granite.

"I didn't know about the Academy class. Andy told me yesterday; maybe he already told you. The January class of 2023 is the Sharon O. Raydor class. I've heard through my sources that they're a pretty good-looking group. They went with your professional name, because, well, duh, I guess." Rusty is making a name for himself in the DA's office. Most people know he is Andrea Hobbs' protégé, Sharon Raydor's son, and somehow related to Andrew Flynn and Louie Provenza, though no one digs too deeply into the last part. Proflynnza is still well-known as a pair of firebrands.

He breathes deeply. It's been five years now, but he can still see her, clear as glass. He thinks about her every day, when he sees his family- the extended one and the siblings, when he goes to work in the Major Crimes division of the DA's office. He's still new and not very high on the ladder, but he is following in Andrea's footsteps. After so many years with the corresponding division across the street in the PAB, he can't imagine being anywhere else.

"The conference room is, well, it's your old conference room on the ninth floor. I think Chief Mason wanted to rename the big one they use for press releases for you, but Provenza and Flynn refused. I think they agreed it would be cool, but said you didn't give a shit- language, sorry- about the press and you'd want your room to be something that put the bad guys away."

He talks for a few more minutes, then slowly stands. "I'll be back soon. I have a date with Andrea and the squad for lunch. I hope you like the sunflowers. They reminded me of you." He kisses his fingers and presses them to the stone, eyes closed, before leaving.

The sun turns the flowers to gold, and they blaze with the full glory of summer.

 _Sharon O.R. Flynn, beloved mother, wife, daughter. 1952-2017. The Spirit is in the Truth. John 5:6_

* * *

Ten years on, Flynn has finally retired and Andrea is contemplating it. She thinks she may still have a year or two of work left in her. She's getting older, though, and she bemoaned the fact to Andy the last time she saw him.

 _My hair is completely grey now. I have to dye the whole mess!_

He'd laughed and told her it didn't matter, that cops and perps alike still feared her.

It's just the two of them now. Provenza had passed a couple years previously, but Andrea wasn't worried that his death would break Flynn like Sharon's had. Provenza had made his peace with the world, unlike Sharon, and Andy had his family to support him. His daughter and her children, Sharon's children, and even his own son were in his life and there for him.

Someone knocks on Andrea's door, jerking her back into the present, and she looks up. It's Rusty, in nice slacks and a plaid shirt, cuffs rolled up. Try as she and Sharon both had, they couldn't break him of his propensity for bright plaids and clashing ties. He had taken after Provenza in that sense, unfortunately.

"DDA Raydor." She never tired of saying it.

"Hey, Andrea." He slips into her office and drops into a chair. "I have a question for you."

She shuts her laptop and takes her glasses off. Another side effect of aging. "What is it?"

"Uhm. . ." Rusty chews his lip for a moment. "Gus and I have a favor to ask, I guess."

He hasn't been this ineloquent in years. "What is it?" she repeats.

"Our adoption paperwork is going to go through."

"Oh!" She stands and rounds the desk to hug him tightly. "Congratulations."

The two men have a son they adopted three years back, Ben, and have been working to adopt a daughter.

 _Andrea had tried not to get her hopes a few months previously up when Rusty had told her there was an infant that had been given up to the Church that he and Gus were taking in for the time being. Baby Girl Doe needed a temporary home after her medical evaluation, and Rusty had almost immediately applied for custody. The ease of the emergency foster was a case of Rusty's continuing connection with Father Stan- unorthodox as it was, since he wasn't Catholic- and his strong reputation within the law enforcement community. Like his mother before him, he passed the DCFS standards and suddenly found himself having come full circle._

Andrea isn't a consistent believer in God. Her faith waxes and wanes as life passes. Nevertheless, she finds herself thinking about God and angels as she hugs Rusty. Maybe she's just a little emotional, but she thinks that perhaps, just possibly, Sharon is still watching over her son. It seems like too great a coincidence for Rusty's adoption papers for a little girl to go through almost exactly on the tenth anniversary of his mother's death.

Rusty seems to have similar thoughts. He finally breaks away and gestures for Andrea to sit next to him. "She didn't- doesn't- officially have a name until the papers are finalized, but, uh, we're going to name her what we've been calling her."

It takes Andrea a moment to make her way through the poor wording. "Oh, Rusty."

"Yeah, she's going to be Alice Sharon Raydor-Herrera. It's a bit of a mouthful, but, uh. . . Gus and I like it. I was worried it would be a lot to live up to, but he said-" Rusty stopped, blinking away his tears. "He said that they'll be proud of her no matter what, and this way she'll always know her grandmother and her aunt are watching over her."

Andrea pulls him close again, both of them crying in earnest. "Shar would love it."

"One more thing. The favor."

Andrea grabs tissues from her desk for both of them. She'd almost forgotten. "What is it?"

"We'd like you and Andy to be her godparents."

Andrea nods fiercely. "Of course. It would be my honor."

Later that day, the six of them- Andy, Andrea, Rusty, Gus, Ben, and Alice- visit both Sharon and Provenza to tell them the good news. It's warm in the cemetery, and the sun shines down on the veritable garden around the stones. For once, the city of angels is quiet around them, and Rusty feels at peace for the first time in years.

Suddenly, a flash of light catches his eye. He glances over, across the rows of granite, and sees two impossible people near the trees. They are as familiar to him as Andrea and Andy. His mother is wearing her favorite purple dress and black heels, and she waves to him, beaming brightly as the breeze tosses her hair. Provenza is still wearing his white bucket hat and a tie that Rusty remembers Patrice picking out for him. The old man puts his arm around Sharon and nods to Rusty, slightly more solemn than the Commander, but tickled pink nonetheless. Later, Rusty isn't entirely sure if he just remembered his mother's voice or if he witnessed an act of a God he doesn't believe in.

 _Know I love you, Rusty, and am so, so proud of you._


	2. Chapter 2

_**Prompt: a request to follow-up Andrea in By Any Means**_

 ** _Involves alcohol and angst._**

* * *

Andrea gets home somehow. She doesn't really know how. She's at work; she's at the PAB, delivering Emma's files with sticky notes Andrea added, even though she doesn't remember doing it. Suddenly she's home, standing in the entryway with no idea what to do.

With no regard to the security detail that she knows is outside- for whatever good that is- she strips off her shoes, slacks, the rumpled blouse and camel coat. She walks to her kitchen, flips the electric kettle on, leaves the room, walks to her bedroom.

There's an old photo of her and Sharon on the wall, from the Brenda Era, as they called it. Sharon is cradling a garden gnome in a Santa hat for some reason, and they are both laughing. Andrea scans the wall, full of dozens of framed pictures, and finds the one of last year's Christmas party at the DA's office. It was more of a pre-game, really, since the real party was across the street at Major Crimes, as usual. She and Emma stand together, smiling, drinks in hand.

Andrea lifts both photos from the wall and carries them to her room. They sit on the duvet, either mocking her or comforting her as she unhooks her bra and pulls an old blue tee over her head. She stares at the smiling faces, wondering where all three women went.

Sharon and Emma are both gone to better places, and Andrea is. . . lost. She's not gone, but she certainly isn't here, wherever here is.

She sits unblinking, then reaches for the nightstand drawer and pulls out a bible, tea candles, a lighter, and a pack of cigarettes that haven't seen daylight in years. With sudden urgency, she returns to the kitchen to collect the half-bottle of Bacardi from the cabinet.

Her home is old, has old hardwood floors, and Andrea lowers herself down to the planks. She sets the tea candles out in front, safe in their glass cups. She lights them slowly, watching the light flicker along her legs. The cigarette is next. The cellophane crackles as she breaks it opens and removes one. She rarely smoked to begin with, never picked a favorite brand, but these ones seem to be menthol, and she is appreciative of her younger self's choice.

She lights it off a candle, then cracks the rum open as well. Maybe it's lunacy to get drunk while there's a serial killer on the loose, but Andrea can't bring herself to care. All she feels is numbness. All she doesn't feel is numbness? The wording escapes her, and she lets it go.

The bible gleams in the candlelight as she alternates poisons. They say the devil comes easier than God, and Andrea certainly finds it true. She can't imagine that printed word, no matter how divine, can grant her the same recess that alcohol and nicotine can. Somehow, Sharon found grace in the word, but Andrea cannot. Not tonight.

Losing Sharon nearly broke her. It had seemed such an impossibility that she had never considered it. Sharon would always be there, the blood of Andrea's covenant, since there was no water of the womb. There were no Hobbses, just one Hobbs. Just Andrea and her friends, her covenant friends. They were all she needed.

Emma had been a friend, not as close and old as Sharon, but a friend nevertheless. Emma was the younger sister she'd never asked for, the one who was annoying but lovable and loving.

Maybe it would have been different if _it_ was expected, for one or both of them. Andrea can't bring herself to say the d-word. Maybe expectation would have softened reality and kept actuality from hitting her like an eighteen-wheeler. It hit her friends like a truck, too, violently ripping them away from their friends and families. Andrea isn't conceited enough to think she's the only one in pain tonight. She's quite sure Rusty Beck is feeling what she is, though he's probably not trying to dull the pain with a bottle of Bacardi Black.

Her responsible self reminds her again that drinking is unwise. Andrea lifts the bottle to ascertain how much she's actually had. She hasn't done too much damage: a few shots worth over the last hour. However, life has been so chaotic that she hasn't gone out much lately, and now those few shots are more than enough to get her drunk.

She slowly screws the lid back onto the rum and sets it down. She's on her second cigarette, and knows her body won't appreciate it in the morning, so she grinds it out on the bible.

Besmirching the black leather gives her some sick pleasure, as if she is telling God or whatever higher being may or may not exist that she is pissed at Them. It may not help anything, but it feels good to grind the ashes in. There is a dark hatred of whatever power decided to stop Sharon's heart, of Stroh for taking Emma, and Andrea tries to funnel it through her fingers.

Teardrops mix with ashes, and Andrea drops the mangled remnants of the cigarette in sudden horror. The anger is gone, leaving her stunned by its power and cold in the absence of its heat.

Now she truly feels numb. She is an ocean, cool and serene, deep and endless. For a moment, she feels as though she is the entire universe: stars, darkness, sunlight, cities.

And then, suddenly, she is Andrea again.

She quietly blows the candles out, brushes off the bible, and climbs into bed, exhausted by sorrow and tears.

She sleeps heavily and well. In the morning, she is woken by her six o'clock alarm, as always. The sun is just creeping in the window.

Given her evening, she feels surprisingly good. She doesn't smell good, but she feels alright. Even mentally, she's better. It's like her sorrow has been- not compartmentalized, not swept aside, not overcome or lessened- but it's less overwhelming. It's not a hurricane or a wildfire in her soul anymore.

She throws the covers back and picks up her phone. There are a couple of new messages and missed calls, about half of them from Amy Sykes and Lieutenant Provenza. Between the two of them, there is a supportive net of interlacing calls and texts, ultimately culminating in Provenza's well, _Your security team seems to think you're okay, so I'm going to bed. Call me in the morning_ , and Amy's softer _let me know if you need anything_.

She sends them both quick messages.

 _Thank you. I'm better this morning. If you want, come over around 7:30 for breakfast. I'm going to call Rusty and have all of them come over. They need to get out of there for a little while._

Amy is first to reply.

 _K thank you I will_

 _Could you let the rest of your squad know they're welcome, too?_

 _Yes_

Provenza actually calls back while Andrea is in the shower after calling Rusty, and she towels her hand off to pick up the phone.

"Andrea."

"Lieutenant."

"How are you doing?"

Andrea sighs.

"That well? I'm surprised you're up so early."

"Yeah, I. . . I don't know, I'm just sticking to my routine, I guess. I don't know what else to do."

The old man is quiet for a moment. "I can understand that. Do you want Patrice and I to bring anything to breakfast?"

"Uh. . . Fruit would be nice. I think I have most everything else we could want."

"Okay." His speech is gentle, as if he understands that her current calm is a fragile shell. "How are you?"

She sighs, heavily, and turns the shower off. "What did my security detail say last night?"

There's a pause before he speaks. "They said you had a light on and they could tell that someone was moving because it was flickering. I asked them to make sure it was you, so they approached your yard and said they could see you reading a book or something."

Andrea laughs dourly. "Maybe that's all they saw, but that's a very kind description of what happened."

"I take it that's what warranted an early morning shower?"

"Can't show up to my own breakfast invitation smelling like the inside of a Sunset Boulevard bar."

"Fair enough."

The silence stretches on, but it's comfortable, and Andrea likes having the presence of another person.

"Is there anything else I can do, Andrea? It's been hard on everyone, but you and Rusty especially. . ."

"No, Lieutenant. Just bring yourself and your wife and some cantaloupe cubes. I'll be alright for now."

An hour later, when people begin showing up at her house, she realizes just how large her family is. There may only be one Hobbs, but there are many, many members of the Major Crimes family. Even though two of its members are gone, that is what they are: a family, bound by love and hopes and sorrow, all found and pieced together by Sharon Raydor.


End file.
